


The Impossible Boy

by Superdillin



Category: Peter Pan & Related Fandoms, Peter Pan (1953), Peter Pan (2003), Peter Pan - J. M. Barrie
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fantasy, Neverland
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 02:16:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8779192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superdillin/pseuds/Superdillin
Summary: Wendy's memories have faded, but the scars she attained in Neverland never faded.  When Peter finally remembers, he comes back to find her, and he finds her changed.





	1. Going Away Means Forgetting

**Author's Note:**

> This is ridiculous but will wind up being an unread novel and a plague upon my own mind.

For the first three years after the massacre of the Jolly Roger, life returned to respective normalcy in both worlds once collided. For Peter, it meant seeking new enemies, having more adventures, stealing more lost boys to do his bidding. For Wendy, it meant returning to the slow progress of life now void of color. Compared to Pan’s world, to the endless adventure of Neverland, how could school and puberty and piano lessons ever bring her excitement?

She spent most nights up late after all her increasing responsibilities and lessons waiting in the chair by the window ledge, looking out, hoping he’d come back as promised. For three years she continued to practiced this routine, with no sign of the impossible boy or his Tink in the night sky. She kept waiting however, even long after she’d forgotten why. 

When Tink’s light went out for the last time, only a few short months after Wendy’s return to Earth, Pan’s sadness cast a storm over Neverland for two whole days and nights. As the skies cleared, he few off in anger, unsure of why he’d been so sad in the first place. When a lost boy made the casual mistake of bringing her up in conversation, he merely ruffled his eyebrows, “Who?”.

Wendy was under duress with her family, with frequent requests that she seek out a husband and grow up. For two years she protested and dallied, but finally accepted that Pan was never going to come for her. She bitterly agreed to meet with the young men her father had lined up for her, but found flaws in each one to ward them off with. Her father grew increasingly frustrated and turned his efforts to her brothers, leaving Wendy to make her own choice. 

And she did, to his displeasure. The young man who finally caught Wendy’s eye was most commonly described by those in the city as a “brut" A common bully in his younger years, he grew into an immature man who vocally lauded machismo and strength over all other traits, though he had little of either himself. Wendy could not be persuaded to see it, however. She saw something familiar in him, something she had already forgotten.

He insisted on taking her to these barbaric fights where lesser men gambled away their money on one or the other. Few of the men there were ever accompanied by a woman, but Wendy found herself surprised to be intrigued and even excited by the matches. This became her new hobby, instead of waiting, demure by the window for her fading memory to come and inject meaning into her life again. Now, she watched people cause one another pain while others celebrated, hungry in the stands for their blood. 

One day, like all his other days, Peter returned to the tree house after a bloody fight with Tiger Lily’s tribe. They’d allied during the fight against Captain Hook, but when such a thing was suggested to him, Peter scoffed as though it were the most ludicrous thing he’d ever heard. “Me? Ally with savages? Not on your life!” He stuck his tongue out to mock the idea before flying into their encampment, knife-first. 

Upon his return, he noticed something that seemed eerily familiar growing above his cot. A branch with several white flowers had grown inward and begun to bloom. He recognized them, but for why? Afraid, as though their soft petals were sharp as his own knife he reached out and plucked one down. Why did he know this flower? Staring closely at it, it was as if he were transported back in time to the instant Wendy had left. “My Medicine!” In their old games they pretended at being grown, mimicking what little they knew of adults by insisting they take medicine and discipline their children. 

Wendy would giggle quietly as she poured rain drops from a leaf into these very same flowers for them to drink. “Now dearest,” in her best attempt to mock her mother’s voice. “You need your tonic before bed.” He chucked the flower to the ground below as he flew off with no warning to his lost boys. It was time to go find his Wendy. 

She sat out in the crowd at one of these “sparring matches”, her eyes searching the bloody men in the center for something familiar. The sounds of people cheering and of her company describing the names of maneuvers and rules in her ear were muffled to background noise. Flashes of Memory as she watched the men dance and strike one another, visions of a fight, appearing in her mind. She wanted to remember it fully but they only came in brief moments, as if trying to remember a dream upon waking. It was not a fight like the one she now watched, that much she knew. She could see dead bodies in the images in her head, and she could swear she felt a memory of blood on her own face. But this fight ended with both men breathing, although one was no longer on his feet. The winners cheered, the losers groaned, and the area was cleared for another match as the addicts placed new bets. 

Peter flew to the window of the Darling estate with ease, as if he’d come back the first spring as promised. But his Wendy wasn’t where he left her. She wasn’t in the chair by the window, or the bed with her name etched above it. He filled with anger for a few red-hot moments at the perceived betrayal. “She promised she’d be here” he spat, completely forgotten that time had passed and that he was the one who’d broken his promise. But he wasn’t ready to give up yet. He perched himself on the window ledge and waited, ready to scout for her return. He did not have to wait long, however. His eyes caught her, ever so briefly, on the street down below. She looked different, which maddened him, but it was still her. She was being ushered into a carriage by a _man_. The word dripped with venom in his own head and he felt horrified. Was she growing up? No, perish the thought. His Wendy would never do anything so grotesque. 

He decided that this man must be her capture and that this was a brilliant way for him to remind her how clever he is. “I’ll save you” He whispered to the air as he set out across the rooftops to follow the monster who had stolen her. When they finally stopped outside of one particular building and went inside, Peter began looking for his own personal entrance, from the roof. He found no chimney to climb down, nor a window to break, but finally a wood door with a latch and a padlock. He grabbed one of the lockpicks from his pouch. They’d been crafted by Tink years ago to help him defeat any windows that were locked or barred, made from the twigs around Neverland Forrest and metal bits she’d taken from the belongings of new coming Lost Boys and repurposed. She was a skilled craftsman, and these always did the trick. Peter could no longer remember where he’d gotten them, and so he decided he must have made them himself. They are extremely clever, after all. 

It was no time at all before the boy was inside, sneaking on light feet down the staircase toward the hum of voices. He skulked his way down until he found the source of the noise below him. Finding a way to watch from above, as is his preference, he found some unfinished rafters in the ceiling that he could perch in to see the confusing event before him. Leaning in for a closer look, he forgot all about Wendy once again, struck with curiosity for this strange new adventure.

And so there they were, both watching this fight take place, merely feet away, neither one remembering the other. 

At the end of that first fight, Peter’s eyes widened as he realized that this was a competition, and that there was a _winner_. A smile grew across his face as he unsheathed his dagger.


	2. Every Time You Breathe, a Grown-Up Dies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter joins a competition he doesn't understand and wins the only way he knows how. Wendy recovers her memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> why am I doing this? Gods, help me.

Looking down, Peter's eyes grew hungry as the next challenger was announced.  The man was raising his fists in the air and beating at his own chest, which only made Pan's heart race more at the thought of besting this fool.  This old man, who's very presence annoyed Peter, dared to think himself a warrior?  A hero?  The thoughts in his own head pumped Peter full of adrenaline.

The fighter looked much tougher, Wendy thought, than the two she'd just seen compete.  She even considered placing a bet on him herself, before reconsidering for the sake of her remaining propriety.  She was excited to see who would dare face him, but her wondering came to a violent gault as a figure fell -- no, flew -- from the rafters just above her head straight for the man in the center of the room.  

The mere force of Peter flying into him, caught unaware, was more than enough to knock him off his feet.  And the boy, of course, landed square on his feet to puff out his chest and crow at the crowd before him as they looked back in amazement.  They had ignored their own senses, assuming this was just another part of the show.  Newer, lower depths even for them to watch what was clearly a child fight.  But, these were not the noblest of men.  And so, Peter got the cheers and reverence he wanted from them. 

As Peter crooned, the man stood slowly to his feet, looking to the crowd in disbelief.  His mouth agape at the sight of their acceptance, he turned to leave -- he would not fight this young boy, no matter how foolish the lad might be.  As he did, however, the adrenaline got the best of one spectator as a voice called out, "behind you!" as if the man were about to stab Peter in the back.  Pan did not wait to verify the threat, flying up and diving again, head first to tackle the man to the ground.  This time, his head hit the floor with a force that nearly knocked him out.  

Around Wendy, the crowd cheered and speculated.  Her date was muttering some nonsense into her ear about wires and illusions but all sounds around her were muted as her once-lost memories returned to her in a flood.  The fight -- no, the massacre.  She'd been surrounded by blood and by bodies, laughing as though this was a game before she realized it was all too real.  How many had she killed with her own sword?  Who's blood was on her face?  Even as she asked herself these harrowing questions, she still laughed as the Lost Boys finished the rest.  

She was not Wendy Darling anymore.  Not on that day, and possibly not since.  When she arrived in Neverland, it was nothing but games and wonder.  Even when Peter explained to her the terrors of mermaids and his war with the pirates, it all felt like a game. Like one of her fanciful stories she used to tell John and Michael before bed.  Make believe.  Until they executed the assault on the Jolly Roger.  These old men barely fought back as they fell on swords and daggers under Pan's command.  Every pirate died that day, save one.  Wendy had seen the Lost Boys mocking him as he ran off into the woods.  "We're only under orders to kill  _men,_ Smee!" they taunted.  "You're no threat to us!". It was seeing him run away that fully brought Wendy back to herself, as she looked down at her blood-soaked sword in panic.  

And now, seeing him there as he flew about, unabashed in the real world, she knew the man he fought would not survive.  Her conscience told her to step in, to call out his name and distract him.  She did not, instead found herself smiling and walked closer to see what came next.  

Peter continued his method of lifting the fighter up and slamming him back into the ground for quite a time.  The old man still would not strike him back, which infuriated Peter.  All he would do is return to his feet and attempt to run, over and over again.  Pan's patience was endless, and the man never made it more than a few steps before he was on his back again.  It took several more hits to the head before the fighter became dizzy and delirious, swiping at the air in front of him.  He never made contact, but the fighting spirit was all it took to convince Peter he was ready to win this contest for good.  

For his grand finale, he flew as high as the ceiling rafters allowed before he took his blade from his belt into his fighting hand.  With a kick-off to aid his speed, he flew down with his arms outstretched.  The sound of his throat being cut silenced the entire crowd for several echoing moments before they erupted into chaos and panic.  

Peter had a slow, burning anger rising up within him.  It was anger that his victory was not being acknowledged and celebrated by these people.  The feeling had almost consumed him, turning his blood thirst to the panicked sheep he saw running from him.  But a vision stayed his hand, the vision of Wendy walking through the chaos toward him.  He flew quickly to her side and took her hand.  

"Come with me," he grinned, as sure she'd agree as he was when he first took her to the sky.  When she hesitated, the words almost on her lips, he reached underneath his shirt and pulled his necklace out.  Her kiss, the thimble she'd given to him as a girl who'd never kissed before, was still there around his neck.  She reached out with trembling fingers to touch it -- to confirm that it was real -- and her heart thumped loud in her chest as she prepared to say yes.  

The sounds of sirens and footsteps running toward them stopped her, filling her with fear.  Most of the crowd was long gone now, and she was not surprised to see that her date was among the evacuees.  But the impending officers worried her for both of them.  

"Meet me at the window, "she breathed barely above a whisper. "Go now." And she planted a real kiss upon his cheek before running on foot out the back door of the building to join the crowd.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> clearly I need friends.

**Author's Note:**

> For real though, this started as a prompt by my best friend who asked me "what if Peter Pan joined the WWF" and I am telling you, I changed very little of my raving madness when writing it all down.


End file.
